


It only hurts a little bit

by 37h4n0l



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Spoilers, episode 12, horribly sappy im alerting you rn, i know i usually write porn and all but this is what my soul really contains, im still sulking, just a lot of vanilla, this anime hurt so bad its like one of my relatives died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:38:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8188189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/37h4n0l/pseuds/37h4n0l
Summary: Their second roadtrip. Sad, sappy, self-indulgent suffering.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short one I wrote to soothe my soul. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

During the first days, Nero is still sad. He’d never hurt Angelo, not after his breakdown at the campfire, but he can’t help but tremble with frustration. He doesn’t hate Nero, that’s clear by now, even if he hasn’t put it into words yet. It’s strange, because they should both loathe each other, but there’s something outweighing those deaths and grudges.

 

“I can’t live after this” Angelo says, staring out the window from his seat, after he’s been proposed to start over. 

 

A reasonable answer, yet hard to accept. 

 

“Will you let me die the way I want to?”

 

It’s hard to squeeze out the reply, but Nero gathers his strength. His voice is raspier than usual.

 

“Of course. What do you have in mind?”

 

“I want to see the ocean first, and I want you to shoot me.”

 

The older man nods. It sounds almost mundane in their current, lighthearted nihilism. 

 

*

 

He cries the next time they make love and feels pretty pathetic for it. Angelo - surprisingly - understands and acts kind for once. He disregards the tears falling onto his face, chest and neck, and reaches up to brush over Nero’s cheeks with his thumbs. Their bodies move slowly, maybe even sloppily.

 

“How do you expect me to be… ready for this?” 

 

“I’ll be happy,” Angelo says as the other thrusts inside of him “I’ll be absolved from what I’ve done.”

 

“I don’t want to see it happen” Nero replies, holding him close and burying his face in the crook of his neck, partially due to embarrassment. His lover caresses his nape slowly and soothingly, then places a kiss on it.

 

“You can do it. I trust you.”

 

*

 

It’s hard to ignore what’s to come. There’s less than a week left of their journey to Florida, and Nero is tempted to stop whenever they can, with whatever excuse he can imagine. Sometimes it’s a nice town, or an interesting place nearby, or him being hungry or tired. He asks for a last drinking bout, a last trip to church (where he never really went in his life), and Angelo knows why he’s doing this, but he keeps quiet as long as they still advance at some pace. Nero forces on a smile, but he feels like he could break down crying once again at any moment. 

 

They sit on a hotel bed that evening, exhausted for having walked in town throughout the day. None of them are sure about sex in this state.

 

“The Galassias are on my ass,” the Vanetti says “They’ll catch me and I’ll be joining you soon.”

 

Angelo’s mouth curls up at the carefree wording.

 

“If I don’t kill myself before it happens, of course” the other adds.

 

“It’s your choice. Just please, don’t be sad for me.”

 

Nero turns around to conceal the tear streaking his face. He’s getting annoyed by his own antics. The younger man probably knows anyway; he doesn’t react, though. As if to say ‘ _ It’s fine to feel like this _ ’. 

 

*

 

The next day is much more cheerful. The weather has gotten warmer and Nero can now smile honestly, after his partner orders pancakes and eats them exactly as disorderly as the first time. The Vanetti’s first plan was to get egg and bacon, but he ends up ditching it for a second portion of pancakes. He starts pouring syrup on them with an almost drastic gesture.

 

“Isn’t that too sweet for you?” Angelo asks with his mouth half-full. 

 

“I’m paying you homage” the other smirks at him. 

 

Then it happens. There’s a slight chuckle from the younger man. It’s not a full-on laugh, but he’s genuine and looks so picturesque in the golden light, with his golden eyes and the golden pancakes. His expression is childish and sweeter than that pure concentrate of caries both of them are eating. Nero reaches out to stroke the side of his face. The bartender looks at them suspiciously.

 

“We’re in public” Angelo reminds him.

 

*

 

They drive through the countryside without exchanging many words but compensating in stares - and touches, when Nero can’t contain himself. The pain is still there, but it’s somehow numb and forgotten when he looks at Angelo and sees him happy, calm and at ease. He still wears a poker face most of the time, but the other man doesn’t mind. It’s proof that their past was authentic, that it wasn’t all fake and that this is the Lagusa’s actual personality. 

 

They stop at an inn, one of the poorer ones they’ve encountered. The room is damp and the bedsheets are kind of dirty. They’re running out of money, too, so both men give up on pretending and agree to rent a single room. There, Nero lays Angelo on the bed, attempting to kiss every inch while he unbuttons his shirt with care. He has stopped feeling shame a long time ago.

 

Their lovemaking is passionate that night. Will there be another time? Maybe there won’t be. Is that even relevant? Angelo’s moans are soft, his amber coloured eyes just barely open.

 

“Angelo,” Nero chants, “Angelo, my beautiful Angelo, I love you too much.”

 

The younger man lets out a puff of a chuckle, but his eyes tear up a little, and maybe it’s a good thing the other is embracing him so tightly that he can’t see it. 

 

“Nero Vanetti, you are a fool.”

 

But he does kiss the ‘fool’ after calling him one. 

 

*

 

The sky clears up before them, trees appearing more and more scarcely. As they take a turn on the road, sandy dunes enter their field of vision. They reach the limit of the land, and now there’s only beach and a thin, dark blue line on the horizon before them. Nero stops the car with a trembling hand and has to find the energy within himself to look at the person sitting next to him.

 

Angelo’s pale, smaller hand is on his shoulder, and when the Vanetti turns his face, the expression before him is full of intrigue and maybe a hint of sadness. They both lean in at the same time. Nero savours his lips, cold and dead in a few hours, and he might want to suffocate both of them then and there by refusing to pull away. His big, angular palms are unfitting for him, they should be a fourteen-year-old’s from how desperately they’re locked on Angelo’s nape.

 

But his wish is more important, it needs to be fulfilled, so Nero is very quick to wipe away the salty droplets swelling up in his own eyes. 

 

“Let’s go, shall we?” He asks quietly. Angelo Lagusa mirrors his smile.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

*


End file.
